Dispersed Tartarus
by MrGrinch4
Summary: In mythology, Tartarus is a place described to be worse than hell. This story might eventually reach that level of description.


Disclaimer: Some of the characters in this story are original, like the main character, for instance. Others belong to there respective authors. It's rather simple: if one character is being described in more detail than some other one, then chances are that the more described character is the one that isn't mine.

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><p>I remember a friend once telling me how horrible it would be if the constant feeling of dread that exists in our nightmares would follow us around in waking life. And then eventually consume us, but not unto death; rather, unto psychological destruction. I recall replying that I would prefer to die a horrendous death. I forgot what happened to that friend. In time we grew detached from one another and were forced by the seemingly chaotic reality to perform different life functions.<p>

Well, here I was, walking home from work with none other than a slight feeling of dread. I'm sure the gray clouds that hung in the sky, coupled with it being late afternoon, minutely contributed to the feeling. But mostly it was due to the weird patterns in which the world was operating recently. The behaviors of people were becoming more haphazard, their attitudes towards each other and myself grew more detached. Conversations were previously dry, but now they were without a theme. And on top of all that I was actually having nightmares. About every other day.

Usually I forget my nightmares' content and just remember the uncomfortable feeling, but yesterday I had a nightmare that ended up not fleeing my memory. I was in some store, a kind of mixture of many different types of stores, that had a very strange man watching me. And not just strange, but out of sync. A schizophrenic of the disorganized type. He had black hair that reached his shoulders and an expressionless face with distorted teeth. And all he did was stare at me from a distance. It's bad enough when a normal person stares at you, but when a weirdo does it it's like their weaving a spider web in your mind.

I remember trying to escape him, but wherever I tried to hide I quickly caught his blank gaze. If I advanced to another aisle, he would stare at me through an opening in the display shelves. When I tried to hide myself in a crowd of people, I would turn around and find him standing there unobscured and disturbingly statuesque, with his stare even more penetrating.

Eventually I ended up trying to reverse the system and instead of hiding I began to approach him. There comes a point when running away from the 'man with the axe' becomes more terrifying than confronting him, even if that increases the chance of getting hacked to chunks. But unfortunately for me, the nightmare was not that easy to game. As soon as I merely _decided_ to take matters into my own hands, I would find the character further away and harder to focus on. And in the brief moments in which I caught a glimpse of him, the stare was psychotically sharp and even more intimidating. It reached a point where I was eagerly searching for him, yet could not find him anywhere, adding to my fear. And then… well… the fear consumed me and I woke up.

When I almost arrived home, about to open my apartment door, I heard someone screaming inside. I knew it was just the television. Upon opening the door I found out I was right. Further straight and to my left was my roommate sitting on a couch and watching a zombie movie. A man just got caught by a horde of zombies – an inescapable situation – and was getting his body torn in half while being eaten. That, of course, was who was screaming. And then there was screaming no more.

"You know, I'm already getting a good dose of nightmares as it is," I said to my roommate, "and now seeing that before I enter la-la land again isn't really gonna help me."

My roommate paused the movie and turned to look at me – staring at me for a couple of seconds – until he uttered, "surely it can't be as bad as this."

"Not quite, but it doesn't matter. If stuff like this triggers any kind of nightmare, that's reason enough to not watch it."

"Suppose so," he said. "But hey, it can't be that bad to have nightmares. At least you get some sort of thrill – some sort of experience… for free. I have to spend precious money to get a version that's more fake."

I laughed. "The more fake version is _exactly_ what you want. You want a horror experience with the protection of a fourth wall."

"Fourth wall? I could do without a fourth wall. Just give me a shotgun, a machete, and some body armor, and I'll be happy to play with the zombies."

I scoffed this time. "Yeah, if you had the proper equipment to deal with the situation. Why not include a tank as well? The point is that it's supposed to be a hopeless situation, and having the right equipment doesn't make it hopeless."

I got stared at again. And then he turned away and unpaused the movie. It then cut to a scene where some female was wandering in the night – alone near some mansion made of stone. Really uncomfortable moment.

"Goodnight, Ben," I said, while wandering off into my own corner of the night.

"Don't let the bed bugs, or zombies, bite," was what I heard before I closed my door.

Now in my room, I went to bed almost immediately; it was a tedious day at work, which delivered loads of mental fatigue. Slowly falling asleep, I heard the faint sounds of zombie growls and a female yelling. Then, either they stopped emitting sounds, or I fell asleep.

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><p>I awoke sometime at night, either by the movie or an urge to use the bathroom. I quickly learned it wasn't the latter. I opened my door and it was awfully quiet.<p>

_Couldn't have been the movie either_, I thought. Although, I did see a dim light now, so the television was on.

I walked over and stood behind Ben to glimpse at what he was watching without letting him know about my presence. Was it still the zombie movie? I couldn't tell. It looked different. Neither zombies nor humans were on the screen, and I could not discern what the setting was, as it was covered in mist. There were buildings that looked like stores so it must have been some city or town. Then suddenly, within the mist, a figure appeared that had the silhouette of a female and the movement of a zombie. The zombie slowly walked out of the mist, followed by other zombies, male and female. They were randomly walking together as a pack, as zombies are usually portrayed to do without the presence of living humans, until… something really odd happened. Day slowly started to turn into night, with noticeable pace. And it seemed like this night was acting like some sort of negation to the zombies because they started to fall down shortly after the shift began. It was really odd… the zombies, they died? Yes, they were falling down like ragdolls and _they died_! The camera then started to race towards some building with moderate speed until it got inside. When it did, the doors quickly slammed behind it. The interior was like some dungeon. Rusted metallic walls, metallic net-like floor; light enough to just barely see it at all. Plus, it was awfully silent; silent in such a way that made me feel like I was partially there.

I looked at Ben to see if any of this was remotely strange to him, but he just kept watching normally, like it was still that zombie movie, even though it looked more like a parody of it… in the opposite direction. It was the _opposite of a parody_ of that movie.

I wanted to say something, I wanted to clear my confusion, which was slowly turning into fear, but then –

"You want to see it shattered?" Ben angrily asked.

I almost coughed up my heart.

He got up and looked at me. "I said… you want to see it shattered?"

I stared back at him, motionless. "See what shattered?"

"What else? The fourth wall." He then took out a shotgun from the couch and blasted the screen. Shards of glass flew from the television and the lights went out. Before I could react in any way I reacted involuntarily by waking up.

I was lying on my back. Rays of sunlight were beaming through the window, powerful enough to disintegrate a thousand-year-old vampire. But, as always with nightmares, the feeling of evil would stay with me for an agonizing moment or three, regardless of the atmosphere. I tried to shake it off, literally, by getting up, moving around, and leaving my room.

Walking into the kitchen I saw Ben sitting there, looking out the window.

"That movie you were watching," I said, "it _precisely_ triggered a nightmare."

"Is that so," he said, while still looking outside.

"Yes, yes it is. On top of that, you were there. And you had a shotgun… which you shot the TV with."

"Is _that_ so," he responded, not quite focusing on my words.

"Yes. Remind you of anything?"

"Yeah, it does. But if you're still concerned about your fake nightmare I doubt you'll be able to handle the _real_ nightmare that happened nearby."

"Whatever do you mean?"

He turned to face me. "It was on the news as soon as I got out of bed. Some guy got stabbed while buying ice cream, by the ice cream man. He then immediately drove off and the buyer died just seconds later."

"What the hell? Why did he do that?"

"Why did he die?" He laughed. "Just kidding. Why did he stab him? I haven't the foggiest."

"And this all happened where?"

"Where else would someone sell ice cream? Right next to the park, where all the kids are. It's a good thing it wasn't a kid who got a taste of cold steel."

"The park. Damn. That _is_ close."

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><p>"What'll it be?" asked the vendor, only slightly trying to lighten his deep and rough voice.<p>

"I'll have the cherry sundae," answered a man in the business suit.

The vendor acknowledged the order and walked off slowly to prepare the mentioned item.

"I'm kind of in a hurry," the customer said, slightly laughing. He didn't want to offend the guy, so he chose a passive gesture. He didn't want to offend someone who stood well over six feet tall and weighed over 300 pounds – over 300 pounds of mass that would make it easy for him to transform himself into a pro bodybuilder had he put in a moderate amount of effort. But the vendor just ignored the implied request and continued with his pace.

"Three dollars," remarked the ice cream man, when he finished preparing the sundae.

The buyer reached into his pocket and took out three one dollar bills and held them out for the vendor to grab.

The vendor took the cash and swiftly offered the ice cream to the man. The customer, unable to focus quickly enough, took and fumbled the ice cream in his hands, trying to get a grip, but ultimately failing and dropping the ice cream on the ground – smearing some of it on his pants.

"_Shit_!" he exclaimed. "_Shit_! I gotta get a second one," angrily saying it, while wiping the dessert off his pants.

"Three more dollars then," the vendor strictly responded.

"Are you nuts? It was your fault what just happened! You'll either give me another sundae or my money back!"

"No sundae, no money back," he coldly answered.

"You give me my money back right now, _you asswipe_!"

The vendor stood there, looking around to see if anyone was watching. No one seemed to be, but there were a few people within sight.

"Are you hearing me! I'm gonna climb inside that truck and take my money back if you don't do what I say!" he started putting his hands on the window.

The ice cream man turned around and grabbed something from the back. Behind him, the man was trying to shake the ice cream truck and was yelling obscenities. The vendor faced him and leaned outward, reaching out his left hand and palming the customer's head with it. With his other hand he stuck a big kitchen knife in the man's neck – the knife ripping through and exiting the other side. He twisted it slightly and then took it out.

The man fell down, naturally bringing his hands to his neck and looking up at his probable killer with an expression of '_what the hell_?'

The burly ice cream man just stood there grinning, while some lady in the distance hurriedly took out a cell phone to call the police. The dying man was jerking, coughing up blood, trying to say something – an insult, perhaps – to the vendor, but failing to do so.

The vendor started up his truck and sped off. Shortly after, a couple of people ran to the dying man's aid, but by this time it didn't matter even if one of them was a medical genius. There was no longer a person in the world that could save him from his fate.


End file.
